Green-Eyed
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Speculation about Series 4 and Isobel's relationship with this ominous fellow, Lord Merton. Richard finds himself getting unstoppably jealous. Written for a prompt on tumblr.


**I wrote this for a prompt- Richobel and jealousy- on tumblr, and I liked writing it so I wouldn't mind doing another chapter if anyone is interested. I'd love to know what you think. **

Richard tried not to let it bother him. He tried with all his might, he really did. But it was hard. It was exceptionally hard, in fact, to see the woman he had asked to marry him- tried to ask, he corrected himself- getting on so well with someone else. There was something overly friendly in the way they were walking together that made his skin creep and his heart ache. He positively glowered at the sight of her walking down the High Street beside Lord Merton, when once the sight of her walking alone along the same stretch had lifted his heart. It still did so- to see her out of mourning clothes, in a pretty cream skirt suit and hat, smiling at people as she passed- his heart soared. Only to come crashing mercilessly down from flight when he saw who she was with. He should have known, he thought bitterly, turning back to his desk, but unable to really see any of the items on it.

Of course, it hardly helped to quell his jealousy that, to all intents and purposes, Lord Merton was everything Richard was not. He was a family friend, as opposed to her colleague and there was no professional relationship to be maintained. He was also tall, and distinguished, and walked with a very straight back. Like all the men in his family, he had been up at Oxford, at a college, Richard was reliably informed by Mr. Barrow, that shared its name with the gentleman's title. It did not help, of course, that he was, in the conventional way, obviously attractive to women, and to Isobel in particular. Richard thought he could have born all his other disadvantages to Lord Merton quite bravely if it had not been for that last. After that last, nothing else signified.

He should have been more open with her, and then he might not have missed his chance. He should have asked to court her, he should have cared for her, he should have loved her more-... Heavens if only that had been possible.

He was shaken from his disgruntled thoughts by the sound of a knock on his office door.

"Come in," he called a little gruffly, further displeased by the fact that someone was disturbing him.

Much to his surprise, when he looked up from the disorganised paperwork on his desk, he found that it was Isobel standing there in her cream suit, watching him with a pleasant expression on her face. Of course, to him, he reflected, most of her expressions were pleasant, he never tired of looking at her face; at her brown eyes, at the beautiful, elegant curve of her nose.

"Mrs Crawley," he stood up quickly, offering his hand to her, "What brings you here?"

She frowned a little, taking his hand and shaking it. Perhaps she was as puzzled as he was by her sudden formality.

"Do I need a reason to call in now?" she asked lightly. Her gloved hand in his was so soft, but her grip was reassuringly firm. Their handshake lingered a little but was over far too quickly for his liking as she withdrew her hand and said, "To tell you the truth, I caught sight of your face through the window. And," she paused for a second, seeming to consider what she was about to say, "I thought... that is, when I saw you- from a distance, I know- you didn't look... very pleased to see me. Am I right?" she asked, pausing for a moment, "Have I done something?"

She asked the question sincerely enough, but he did not know how to answer her. He did not know what he should say, how much he could tell her, if he should tell her anything at all. They were his petty jealousies, a voice in his head told him, and she had made it clear that she wasn't interested in him. He ought to keep them to himself.

"On the contrary, Mrs Crawley," he told her, forcing himself to smile for her, "It was a pleasure to see you in such good spirits."

She did not seem altogether convinced by what he said, but that was not the objection she raised.

"I wish you would call me Isobel," she told him gently, smiling a rather frustrated smile at him, "I would have thought that after all these years you of all people have earned that right."

For a moment he could not say anything. His hands hung limply by his sides, his fingers resting on the edge of the desk. Part of him wanted to ask if he had not earned anything else in the last ten years. Had he earned her friendship but not done enough to win her true affection?

"As you wish," he answered at last, "Isobel."

She gave him a small smile, but a second later she frowned.

"Are you sure you're alright?" she asked him, "You look-... Oh, I don't know, you look-... I came in because I wondered," she admitted at last, "You gave me such a look."

"I'm fine," he told her, "Really, Mrs- Isobel, I barely noticed it was you on the street. I had absolutely no intention to offend you."

She smiled more re-assuredly this time, but still he was left wondering if she quite believed him. He realised, it was hardly consistent with having told her he'd been happy to see her looking so cheerful, but if she noticed his slip up, she did not say anything. And it hardly signified anyway, because a moment later she was going.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you, then," she replied, "I'll leave you in peace to get on. You're obviously busy."

"Don't go on my account," he told her.

She turned back to him, when she had half turned away towards the door.

"I came on your account, why shouldn't I leave on it as well?" she asked.

He was stumped for an answer.

"Anyway," she told him after a moment, smiling at his speechlessness as she straightened the line of her gloves a little, "Lord Merton is waiting for me outside. I said I wouldn't be long. He's rather insisting on walking me home."

She gave him a smile more full of exasperation than the situation merited. It stung at his heart, but without faltering too much he managed to say;

"He has a lot to learn. He should know better than to insist anything in your case?"

She laughed out loud giving him the most genuine smile he'd seen from her all day, only to completely break him with her next words.

"Oh, I expect he'll learn with time."

He held the door open for as she left.

"I'll call in again some other time when we're both less busy."

He thought he told her good afternoon before he closed the door behind her. The only impression that stayed with him very forcibly was that as soon as the catch had clicked shut he would have liked to have sunk back down into his chair and buried his face in his hands. He would not like to have to clinically explain the sensation that occurred in his chest when she uttered those words, but it felt like his heart might have ruptured.

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